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Reflection: Seeing and Listening on the Road to Easter
Lent is a time to strip away distractions, to look inward and upward, and to listen more closely to God’s voice. The readings for March 16, 2025, invite us into this dual act of seeing and hearing, revealing how God’s promises unfold in mysterious, transformative ways.
In the first reading from Genesis, God calls Abram to “look up to heaven and count the stars, if you can.” It’s a moment of breathtaking wonder—God promising Abram descendants as numerous as the stars, despite his old age and Sarai’s barrenness. Abram doesn’t argue or doubt; he puts his faith in God, and that trust is “credited to him as righteousness.” Then comes the strange, smoky scene of the covenant—fire passing between split carcasses, sealing God’s pledge. It’s raw, unsettling, and real. Lent asks us to look at our own lives with that same raw honesty: Where do we place our trust? Can we see God’s promises even when the path feels dark or absurd?
Psalm 27 echoes this trust with a cry of confidence: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom should I fear?” It’s a plea to see God’s face, to dwell in His presence, and to wait patiently for Him. In Lent, waiting isn’t passive—it’s active hope, a stubborn refusal to let despair win. When life’s shadows lengthen, this psalm reminds us to keep looking for the light.
Paul’s words to the Philippians shift our gaze higher still. “Our citizenship is in heaven,” he writes, urging us to stand firm amid a world obsessed with earthly things. He’s blunt: some live as “enemies of the cross,” chasing what fades. But we’re called to a different vision—Christ will “transform our lowly body to be like his glorious body.” Lent isn’t just about giving up chocolate or screen time; it’s about realigning our focus, letting go of what weighs us down, and trusting in that ultimate transformation.
Then comes the Gospel—the Transfiguration. Jesus takes Peter, John, and James up the mountain, and suddenly, He’s radiant, dazzling, flanked by Moses and Elijah. The disciples are awestruck, sleepy, and terrified all at once. Peter babbles about building tents, wanting to freeze the moment. But a cloud descends, and God’s voice cuts through: “This is my chosen Son; listen to him.” Look and listen—there’s that Lenten call again. The glory is real, but it’s not the end. Jesus is headed to Jerusalem, to the cross. The disciples can’t stay on the mountaintop; they have to follow Him down into the valley.
What does this mean for us, mid-Lent 2025? Maybe we’re like Abram, staring at a sky full of impossible stars, wondering if God’s promises hold. Maybe we’re like the disciples, dazzled by glimpses of grace but unsure how to respond. Or maybe we’re just tired, trudging through penance, needing a nudge to keep going. These readings say: Keep looking. Keep listening. God’s covenant isn’t cheap—it cost Abram a sacrifice, Jesus a cross, and us our comfort. But it’s unbreakable. The stars still shine. The voice still speaks.
This Lent, let’s dare to look at where we’ve settled for less than God’s vision. Let’s listen to Jesus—not just the glowing mountaintop Jesus, but the one who walks toward suffering and resurrection. Because that’s where He’s leading us: through the cross to a glory we can barely imagine. As Paul says, He’ll transform us. As the psalmist sings, we’ll see His goodness. And as Abram learned, God keeps His word—even when we can’t count the stars.
Lately, we have been experiencing many astronomical events. From the planetary alignment, to asteroids passing too close for comfort to the recent "Blood Moon," These signs show the awesomeness of God's creation. Yet, there is more to existence than these. We must look up at God and focus on Him solely. Today's readings remind us of this.
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